


All The Wrong Times, All The Wrong Places

by chaiclouds



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Violence, DreamTeam, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, George is literally just a guy, Gun Violence, Knight BadBoyHalo, Knight Skeppy, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Friend Sapnap, Rebel Dream, Rebel Technoblade, Rebel Tommyinnit, Rebel Wilbur Soot, Royal Tubbo, Slow Burn, Techno hates government??? Yeah, dreamnotfound, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28214985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaiclouds/pseuds/chaiclouds
Summary: “I’m colourblind.”That makes Dream cackle loudly. “You’re colourblind? Holy shit,” he says between wheezes.“I don’t think it’s funny, your dumb group got me fucking shot,” George narrows his eyes.“Oh it's funny. But, I’m sorry it happened."-----George had spent his life looking for meaning, something to fight for. So when he finds himself in the wrong place, at the wrong time, he can't seem to keep himself away. Dream, on the other hand, would give anything to keep this dumbass safe, and far from his activities.-----(Disclaimer: If any of the boys change their minds about how they feel about being in fanfictions, I'll delete immediately)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 82





	1. I'm Fucking Colourblind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would be my first DNF fanfic, and I really hope y'all enjoy :) I am planning to write many more in the future as well. 
> 
> This is purely a work of fiction, and if any of the CC's show dislike for fanfics I will take this down.
> 
> TW for this chapter: Gun Violence, Blood

It is early in the morning, the sun just cresting the horizon, and George is briskly walking through the backstreets of London. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, so he isn’t really paying attention to the turns he takes. He just lets his feet guide him, taking him down the roads to his destination. 

The gentle snow falls from the sky onto the hood of George’s hoodie, steadily melting into the multicoloured cotton-polymer mix. It is winter, finally, a cold first day of December. It’s unusual for it to snow this early, typically London got the most snow in January. But, this year decided to surprise him. 

He tugs on the black hoodie strings absentmindedly as he walks, regretting not choosing to wear a thicker jacket. His mom swore that the hoodie would be extremely warm, and he had believed her until he stepped out into the frigid air outside his apartment. His mom got him the hoodie as an early Christmas present, and he felt he needed to wear it at least once, show it to the world as thanks. 

She didn’t live in the area, and had to send it to him by mail, so she would never know if he wore it or not. But either way, George wanted to do it justice before he threw it in his closet, never to be seen again. It isn’t really his colour. It is a mix of white, black, and yellow. He definitely would’ve preferred a blue hoodie, but he thanked his mom profusely over text when he got it in the mail anyways. 

His short, brown fringe is getting dusted by the snow, but he isn’t bothered by it. Periodically, he would need to shake his head to clear the snow from his hair. 

His feet sink into the snow with every step; it requires slightly more energy from George, but he doesn’t mind too much. He’s just happy that there’s the possibility to have a white Christmas this year. Though, he really should’ve dressed for the weather.   
  
He veers to his left, ducking under the awning of a nearby bakery to take quick refuge from the snow. There aren’t many people out at this time, George could count the people nearby on one hand. He was planning on going to his friend Sapnap’s house, but now he was really reconsidering that decision. The snow is beginning to pick up, and it might get dangerous soon. He just hopes it won’t turn into a full-blown blizzard, which is unlikely for his area, but he still worries. 

Sapnap’s taunting rings through his mind, telling him he should get his driver’s license. He leans against the brick outer wall of the bakery. 

Well, now he’s just loitering, isn’t he? 

Part of him wants to go inside, take advantage of the warmth, but he would feel bad for not buying anything. He didn’t even bring his wallet, which was yet another foolish decision of his to add to the ever-growing list. 

The smell wafting from the vent by his calves was amazing; the fresh bread being baked inside made his stomach growl. It also warmed his legs, which was better than nothing. It did mean that he was standing in a puddle of grey slush, but his boots were waterproof and his legs were warm.

He pulls out his phone, his numb, red fingers barely able to type out Sapnap’s number. They hurt to move. 

He is intending to call and cancel their meeting, or at least for Sapnap to pick him up, but his thoughts are interrupted by shouts coming from the alleyway to his right. He almost checks it out, his curiosity growing, but decides against it. There were enough stabbings in the area recently, George doesn’t want to become the next victim. 

Staying neutral was the safest way to go; it minimizes harm on yourself and others, as far as George was concerned. 

But, just his luck, a man bursts out of the alleyway and immediately fixes his gaze on George. Or at least, he can assume it does. The man’s face is completely covered by a white mask with a crude smiley-face painted on it. 

It’s a terrifying sight, like nothing George has ever seen before. The man’s build is slightly larger than his own; he could definitely get beaten to a pulp by him, if he wanted to hurt George in even the slightest respect. 

George’s fight or flight instinct begins to kick in, but before he can turn to take refuge in the bakery, the man rushes right towards him. George’s muscles freeze up, choosing to freeze against his will. His trembling fingers drop his phone into the snow, Sapnap’s contact open on the screen.   
  
“What the hell is wrong with you?” The man hisses angrily, and before George can react, there is a hand gripped firmly around his left bicep, and he is being pulled away from the bakery. 

They are running extremely fast, and George doesn’t have a moment to register what is happening before he gets punched in his right arm. He yelps and tries to stop running, his resistance unnoticed by the strong man pulling him, when he realizes that his white sleeve is blossoming a dark shade of brown. The man’s hand is clamped down on his other arm, there is no way he will be able to pull away. He resigns himself to his new fate of probably being sold on the black market or some shit. He glances behind himself at the loud shouting, afraid of what he’ll see. 

They are being chased by a group of maybe 6 people, all with guns. His stomach balls into knots when he realized that they were all the king’s guards. He can’t exactly make out what they are yelling, but there are a shit-ton of swears mixed in. 

George is abruptly jerked to the side, and down another alleyway. He is stumbling over his own feet now, completely losing track of where they were going, which only serves to make his anxiety bubble over. 

He is crying now, whether he realizes it or not. Hot tears pouring down his cheeks, blurring his vision. 

After a multitude of twists and turns, the man pulls him into a hole in the wall and slams him against the side, smacking his hand over George’s mouth. George feels abused, slammed around and weak compared to this man. It terrifies him. The man’s hand takes up half his face, covering both cheeks as well as his mouth. _It is heavily calloused,_ George notices. 

They are pressed together, chest to chest, both of them heaving for air. It’s dark in the alley, but George can now finally take a good look at his captor, though his vision is impossibly blurred with tears. 

His face was covered by his mask, but George could see dirty blonde locks coming around the edges of the ceramic. He wonders how that could possibly be comfortable to keep on one’s face, though that should be the least of his worries. The mask was scuffed in many places, it looks like it’s been through a lot. It is held onto his face by a thick leather strap, disappearing into the hood of the man’s yellow hoodie. The running temporarily warmed him up, but the cold bite of the outside started to weave its way around his bones. 

“I think they went down here,” someone barks from the alleyway, and he turns his head to see the group run past them, not noticing George or the man. George wishes he could yell out, ask them to save him from his demise. They did shoot him earlier, but he assumes they were aiming for the man. 

Speaking of the man, his head turns towards George. The smiley face is oddly menacing, George can’t even see his eyes through the black mesh where he assumes the man can see. 

“Will you scream if i remove my hand?” the man whispers, his voice oddly soft. George inhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head reluctantly. There isn’t anyone around as far as he knows, and he would rather the smiley-face man not shank him in this alley, never to be found again. It was best to keep him happy, until he found a chance to escape. The man slowly lifts his leather gloved-hand away from George’s mouth, and nods curtly. He lets out a shaky sigh, before peeking his head out of the hole they both stood in. 

The air felt stale and suffocating, they were almost in a vacuum. They were safe from the growing levels of snow, only small flakes drifting in to land on George’s black boots. 

The alleyway seemingly clear, the man turns back to George. “You are so fucking dumb,” the man laughs, before dropping his backpack and rubbing his face under the mask. 

“I-I-” George stutters, but when the man jerks his face up to George, he shuts up. He resigns himself to carefully watch the man as he digs through the backpack, his body awkwardly pressing against George’s legs. The man tears off his yellow zip-up hoodie, and his black and white striped shirt. George feels his face grow red, embarrassment growing in his chest. 

This guy is straight-up shirtless in the middle of the earliest and coldest winters that London has ever had. He stuffs his clothing into one of the pockets of his backpack, before looking up at George.   
  
“Are you going to take that off?” the man asks sharply. George hesitates, before pointing at his hoodie. 

“This?” He manages to get out. The man stands back up, his bare chest now against George. 

“Yeah, what else would I be talking about? You’re one of the dumbest people I have ever met,” he said, sounding pissed. George bristles at that, he doesn’t like being insulted by someone he has never met before. 

“Why would I do that?” he asks, raising his voice, becoming shrill. He wasn't really expecting to be asked to strip by a random man in an alley when he woke up this morning. Bitterly, he remembers his phone lying in the snow in front of that bakery. His nose twitches, wondering if Sapnap is worried. 

“Shut up,” the man chastises, “unless you want my hand back on your mouth again.” He slips his hands under George’s hoodie, near his hips, and swiftly takes it off George. George jumps in surprise, a squeak escaping his lips. The hoodie fabric stuck to his arm lightly, making him hiss in pain quietly. 

The man just chuckles, throwing George’s hoodie into his backpack as well. George begins to shiver even more, the adrenaline and warmth from running almost obsolete at this point. His nose begins to run, and he wipes it on his good arm absentmindedly. 

“What’s your name?” George asks between chatters of his teeth. The man crouching in front of him hesitates, before responding with a simple:

“Dream.” 

“Dream? That’s not your name.” 

“What, you wanna see my birth certificate? Get off my back idiot,” he says, rummaging through his backpack again. George huffs and grabs his injured arm, digging his nails into bare flesh, trying to distract himself from the stinging sensation which continues to wind its way up his arm. 

The blood from his bullet wound is running a path down his bicep, down his elbow, and dripping steadily onto the ground. It splashes onto the snow, making little fireworks in the ice. Maybe if he really does get kidnapped, someone could find his blood or something. Analyze it, or whatever. Find him. 

_Maybe it would help, I don’t know,_ he thinks to himself. He shakes his head, not liking to contemplate his own demise. 

“I’m George,” he says. Dream doesn’t respond, and instead stands up with a small first-aid kit in hand. They are pressed up against each other again now, but Dream shifts so that George’s injury is in the light. Dream hisses in sympathy when he sees the wound, before patting away some of the blood in order to see exactly what happened. He is muttering to himself inaudibly. 

_Probably about how dumb he thinks I am._

George tries not to look, the sight of his own blood making him sick. He was moderately fine with other people’s blood, but not his own. 

“This might sting a bit, George,” Dream mutters. George doesn’t get a chance to hover on the way his name was said so tenderly by a stranger, and potential kidnapper, before the stinging gets excruciatingly bad. A strangled shout escapes his throat, his vision goes white, and he collapses against Dream. Dream seems to be prepared for that reaction, and holds George up, safe away from the snow. “I’m almost done,” he says assuredly. 

George can’t think straight, and resorts to clamping his teeth around his knuckles to muffle his cries. He feels a cloth being wrapped around his bicep, and soon enough Dream is back to his backpack. George feels lightheaded, too weak to deal with any of this. He feels like he is in a dream, rocking back and forth on his heels dizzily. 

Dream stands and slips a plain black hoodie over George’s head, and puts a second one on himself. George is grateful for the warmth; he still doesn’t have a thick jacket but this was ten times better than a plain tee. 

Dream steps out of the hole in the wall, extending a hand out to George. George takes it hesitantly, what other option does he have? 

It’s impossibly warm, a juxtaposition from the weather. Dream slings his backpack over his shoulder and tugs George along. 

Dream is careful as they walk, being sure to check around every corner before they go. George absentmindedly wonders how many people that he has kidnapped, if he is so good at this. He honestly has no clue where they are. George used to pride himself in knowing all the ins and outs of London, but Dream had pulled him into an absolute maze. 

After a while, Dream halts in front of a door tucked into the wall of _yet another_ alleyway. He drops George’s hand, and reaches into his pocket, but quickly freezes and whips towards George. George is absentmindedly playing with his hoodie sleeves, waiting for Dream to get the door open. 

“You’re not going to run?” Dream asks carefully. 

“Why would I? I have a literal gunshot wound and I don’t know where I am. It’s cold too. I’d appreciate it if you would get the door open.”

“We don’t have heating,” Dream simply responds, and pulls out a key. He slips it into the lock, and turns it, before holding the door open for George. 

The second George walks in, he hears the safety click off on a gun. He freezes, tensing up, realizing his mistake when he feels the dark barrel pressed up against his temple. 

“Jesus Christ, Tommy! He’s harmless,” Dream shouts, and the gun drops slowly. George glances over to see a tall, angry-looking blond boy standing a couple feet away, a handgun by his side. Dream locks the front door and walks around George, motioning for him to follow. Tommy stares at George as they walk away, analyzing him, before disappearing into another room. The main area of the building had a few couches in a ring position, with a coffee table in the centre. There were a couple weapons on the table, sitting abandoned. The walls are all a medium-toned grey, complimenting the dark flooring. _I should really take my shoes off_ , George thinks, but decides against it when he realizes he might need to run soon enough. Now isn’t the time, though. 

Dream leads George away from the main room, and he finds himself in a medical-looking area. The room itself matches the main entrance, with grey walls and scratched hardwood floor, but in the corner there is a cot with shelves of medical supplies surrounding it. Dream points at the cot, and George hops on, happy enough to rest his legs. Dream wasn’t lying, the place was just as cold as the outside. There was a small space heater in the corner of the room, but it wasn’t on. 

“So, George,” Dream says as he sorts through various equipment on the shelves, “why were you in our clothes, in the area _and_ time of our attack?” 

“Your- _what_?” George asks dumbly. None of that made sense. This morning, all George wanted was to go see Sapnap to hang out for a while, and maybe play Minecraft. He was not asking or even expecting to be shot, of all things. 

“The hoodie,” Dream motions to his backpack. “It is white, black, and green. Like mine. Those are our colours. If you don’t want to be shot, don’t wear them. How did you not get that memo?” Dream asked patronizingly. 

George feels a pit of annoyance grow in his stomach. His mom had bought him that hoodie, not that Dream would know, and this was the first time he was wearing it. She wasn’t from the area, of course she wouldn’t know about this fucking terrorist group. 

And George? He was fucking colourblind. So, he told Dream.

“I’m colourblind.”

That makes Dream wheeze loudly. “You’re colourblind? Holy shit,” he says between wheezes. He sounds like a hyena crossed with a tea kettle. George didn’t appreciate his mockery. 

“I don’t think it’s funny, your dumb group got me fucking shot,” George narrows his eyes. 

“Oh it's funny. But, I’m sorry it happened. Our group aims to only target who needs to be targeted, we don’t wish to hurt the public,” Dream says, more serious now. He walks over to George, dropping a pile of medical supplies on the cot next to him. “Don’t go anywhere. I don’t really expect you to, but still. I’ll be back,” he says before exiting the room swiftly. 

He was right, George had no plans to leave. He wasn’t sure how far he would get, or if he believes Dream. But, it seemed like his best shot at survival was to go with the flow. That, and he still felt like he was dreaming. 

He reaches for his back jean pocket, only to be met with empty fabric. He curses under his breath when he remembers, yet again, that he dropped his phone in the snow. He wonders if the people at the bakery picked it up, or if he could beg Dream to get it for him (if he wasn’t ever allowed to leave). 

Soon enough, a tall man with long pink hair walks in, followed by a shorter guy in a toque and hoodie. The one with pink hair is adorned in jewelry, necklaces decorating his neck and earrings of all sorts decorating his ears. He is wearing one of those pirate-style white shirts, all flowy with poofy sleeves. It is tucked into brown pants, which George has a suspicion might be red, based on what he knows about tones. It’s intimidating, to say the least. The other one is more unassuming, small and quiet looking. His hoodie was black, so were his jeans. His toque had stripes on it, the same colours as George’s hoodie. He rubs his jaw carefully, giving George a steady look. 

George recoils slightly, wishing for Dream to come back. He doesn’t necessarily trust him more, but at least he told the kid at the door, Tommy, to put the gun down. They shut the door behind them, and wordlessly get to work. 

“Who are you?” he asks, but barely gets a glance in return. He huffs, and lies down on the cot, giving them access to his arm. 

“Barely a graze,” the man with pink hair says to the other. “Get Dream, he’s being a coward.” The one in the toque nods, and leaves the room. The pink haired man looks down at George, observing him closely. His voice is deep and monotone, and it scares George, if only a bit. He thought Dream was intimidating, until meeting this guy. 

“How did you know where we would be?”

“I didn’t,” George breathes gently, exasperated by all the doubt and questions. The man looks unconvinced, but turns his attention away from George when the door opens again. Dream walks in, one arm wrapped around the back of his neck. 

“Take care of it yourself, Dream. And get him out of here,” the man says, before leaving George’s side. 

“Techno, wait, how bad does it look?” Dream asks, grabbing his arm. His voice sounds almost desperate, but George chalks it up to his dreamlike-state that he perceives it that way. Techno glances down at Dream’s hand, before shooting him a glare. 

“Let go of me,” he says simply, and Dream complies. Techno leaves the room, without any more words exchanged. The other guy follows, giving Dream a quick pat on the shoulder as he passes. Dream looks back to George, who is still laying down on the cot. 

“Okay, George, let’s get an actual good look at this…” he mutters. He periodically needs to wipe away the blood in order to keep the wound visible, but he works steadily. “You need stitches, but not a hospital,” Dream says, changing his gloves and grabbing a suture kit. 

“Why aren’t you British?” George just asks, which makes Dream falter. 

“What?” Dream exclaims. “Oh come on now, you can’t be serious.”

“I am? We are in London, and you’re a terrorist. A Brit terrorist.”

“O-kay, first off, not a terrorist,” Dream chuckles. “I already told you we only hurt people who deserve it. And secondly, I wasn’t born here. How crazy, I know” he says sarcastically. “Now bite down on this,” he adds, shoving gauze into George’s mouth. 

Without warning, he begins to sew George’s skin back together, causing George to scream. It is muffled by the gauze, but it is still a sickening noise. Dream doesn’t hesitate, continuing to sew the flesh. He doesn’t need to hold down George’s arm, as he manages to keep it still enough for Dream. 

“Almost done,” Dream mutters, but George can barely register it through his screams. The pain begins to fade slightly, and George manages to look over at Dream, whose hands are now hovering above George’s arm, still holding the needle and thread. 

“Is it over?” George says, spitting out the gauze. Dream nods, and George nods back before swiftly vomiting on the floor. On Dream’s shoes. 

“Oh my god,” Dream shouts, standing up abruptly. George mutters half-hearted apologies as Dream exits the room quickly. 

He comes back soon enough, with new shoes on his feet. George isn’t sure how long he was away, but he’s glad he is back. 

“Can you stand?” Dream asks. 

“I’m sorry for ruining your shoes,” George whimpers. Dream just shrugs, and extends a hand, slipping it behind George’s back, helping him sit up. George winces, but manages to keep himself calm enough. 

“Techno wanted to keep you here initially, but I told him that I want you gone. Hope you understand,” Dream says, and George gives a small nod. “But, George, you say shit about where we are, or who we are, you are as good as dead. You hear me?” he adds, his voice dangerously low. 

George nods once more, which seems to satisfy Dream. Or, at least he hopes it does. He shifts off the cot, stumbling a bit, before Dream catches him. He sets him up on his feet, and helps George into a sling. 

“I will take you home, George. My one condition is that you forget about me, and the organization as well.”

“Okay,” George whispers in response, but he isn’t sure he can quite promise that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's chapter 1! I will make these notes more interesting as time goes on, but for now I hope you stick around. Next update coming possibly next week? :)
> 
> I'm a bit rusty in the fanfic genre, so please be polite ahahfjdfdk :')
> 
> Comments and kudos greatly appreciated!


	2. Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George wants to forget what happened and move on, but it hangs over his mind. At least he has Sapnap to distract him, more or less.

George is sitting on his couch, pensively. 

When Dream had dropped him off at his house, he had handed George the hoodie, telling him to burn it along with his pants and shirt. Honestly George thought that was a bit drastic at the time, but as he stares into his fireplace, he considers it. 

Only for a second though.

He tosses the offensive hoodie to the side with a sigh, not wanting to think about it, and lies down on the couch tiredly with his head against the armrest. He makes sure to place his injured arm on his chest, a weak attempt at keeping it above his head and heart. He’s pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to do with an injury, but George didn’t have his phone to look it up and check. 

It’s still in the sling; George really doesn’t want to risk opening the stitches or something. He doesn’t know how to get back to Dream for him to fix it, and he doesn’t want to go to the hospital, so really all he can do is be careful. Though, even if he did screw something up _and_ knew where Dream was, he isn’t sure he would go back to Dream. His thoughts are pulled back to the sensation of vomit crawling up his throat in response to the excruciating pain, and he can’t shake the sight of Dream’s shoes soaked in George’s breakfast. 

He feels terrible about it, and he would probably be more embarrassed than afraid if he had to confront Dream again. 

But, thankfully, it doesn’t matter. 

There is no way George would ever be able to find Dream, just by looking for the base. George honestly thought he would be able to trace his way from Dream’s hideout to his house, but Dream ended up being way too good at confusing George. He managed to follow their path in his mind for maybe five minutes before feeling completely lost. 

The thing that intimidated George the most was the fact that all Dream needed was his address, and he was able to find an intricate route to disorient George. 

He was able to confuse George about the literal location of his own house, in relation to it’s surroundings. It scared him, but also intrigued him. Dream knew exactly where he slept at night, making George slightly regret giving him his actual address. 

George instinctively reaches for his phone, wanting to message Sapnap, but falters when he remembers, once again, that he left it in the snow. He really was attached to technology, huh? 

He ponders his options for a moment, before realizing he could just message Sapnap on his computer. 

_Discord, yeah, that was the way to go._

He winces as he pushes himself into a sitting position, needing to take a moment to catch his breath. He never thought he would ever be shot, but it’s taking a lot out of him for only being a ‘flesh wound.’ He should really take some more ibuprofen. 

George manages to get off of the couch and into his bedroom, plopping himself into his office chair. He turns his PC on and waits for it to boot up, which typically takes a while. The fan inside takes off like a jet engine, attempting to keep the insides cool, and George makes a mental note to set aside some money to get a new computer altogether. 

His setup was quite modest, but not terrible. The PC itself was a couple years old meaning it took a second to boot up. He typically preferred to put his money into savings and trips, but it’s been getting dangerous out lately, so he’d been quite tied to his desk. _It would probably be a good investment,_ he thinks. 

He isn’t a fan of the political stuff going on; it is easier to pretend it’s not happening. 

Once the computer turns on, he grabs his mouse and navigates to Discord. Luckily his right arm was the one that got injured, and he was left-handed. It’ll make typing more difficult, but at least his custom left-handed mouse will still be comfortable. 

Opening his DM’s, he is bombarded with Sapnap’s messages from earlier that day. 

**Sapnap - 6:21AM**

Heyyy gogy pick up your phoneeeee

**Sapnap - 6:34AM**

?????

**Sapnap - 6:53AM**

Dude your supposed to b here by now

**Sapnap - 7:05AM**

GEROGEEEE

**Sapnap - 7:05AM**

GEORGEE**

**Sapnap - 7:08AM**

Are you dead???????

**Sapnap - 7:29AM**

Im actually getting worried dude

**Sapnap - 8:57AM**

Call me when you get this please

He quickly types a ‘hello,' as a way to reassure Sapnap in the quickest way possible. Damn, he was gone for a while. Immediately, Sapnap spams him in confusion. 

**Sapnap - 10:22AM**

GEORGE?

**Sapnap - 10:22AM**

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?

**Sapnap - 10:22AM**

HELLO?

**Sapnap - 10:23AM**

ANSWWER ME???????????

George runs his free hand through his hair nervously before contemplating how to answer. He would be seeing Sapnap tomorrow at work, he’s going to need to tell him what happened; just exactly _why_ he didn’t show up to Sapnap’s house. It is probably better to bring it up now, while he has this veil of technology between him and his friend. 

It should be easy enough, just blame the snow. Now his next conundrum: _how the hell is he supposed to explain his arm?_

Part of him wants to spill all that happened, but another part of him is paranoid that he was bugged or something. 

And… a smaller part of him has Dream’s threat ringing through his mind on repeat. 

George begins to type his response, but is interrupted by a notification that Sapnap started a voice call. He chews on his bottom lip nervously, but clicks on the ‘connect’ button. 

Immediately, Sapnap starts yelling at him. 

“George?! Where the hell are you? I’ve been calling you nonstop, are you at home now?” 

“Yeah, sorry Sapnap…” George apologizes simply, and scratches his nose absentmindedly. “Things got… dangerous outside.”

“What?” 

George almost tells him, almost spills over, but bites his tongue intentionally to shut himself up. “Um, like the snow, there was ice, and uh, yeah,” he says nervously. He isn’t sure he sounds too convincing. Sapnap’s little Discord icon is terribly intimidating, and it makes George want to sink down into his chair, away from his monitor. 

“...Hey, lemme turn on video real quick, are you good?” Sapnap asks, and in a moment George sees his face pop up on his screen. George hesitantly turns his on as well, and readjusts himself in his chair. “Jeez,” Sapnap breathes. “You look like death, man.”

George rubs his face self consciously, not looking directly into his webcam. “I fell,” he mutters. Sapnap leans closer to his camera, looking confused. George isn’t sure he heard him. 

“Huh?”

“I slipped on the ice, on my way to your place. I went to the hospital, apparently I tore something in my arm when I tried to brace myself,” he lies through his teeth, and turns so the camera can see his sling. “I’ll have to be in this for a little while.”

“Jeez,” Sapnap breathes, his eyebrows drawn together. “Do you want me to come over?”

“No, no I’m fine,” George chuckles lightly. Truth be told, he would really like to unwind after what he just went through, but he doesn’t want to accidentally tell Sapnap what happened. 

Sapnap is quiet, intently looking at his monitor. George begins to chew on his cheek, feeling terribly observed. 

“I’m coming over,” he says firmly, and with finality. George sits up, ready to express his disdain, but Sapnap promptly hangs up and his Discord icon greys out. George knocks his head back against his chair and groans tiredly. 

Great. Sapnap was coming over now. 

He still feels sick when he thinks about how he was shot, when he thinks about the way Dream grabbed him so desperately, when he thinks of this mess that he got himself caught up in. 

How is he supposed to keep himself together? His mind is running a thousand miles a second, trying to process what happened over these mere few hours. 

His nails dig into his left forearm, leaving pink trails down his skin. A voice in the back of his mind warns him of drawing blood, so he forces his hand away and presses his back into his chair, shutting his eyes. He chooses to desperately grasp at his armrest instead. 

If Sapnap left right when he hung up, he should be arriving in maybe ten minutes. That doesn’t give George a lot of time to prepare. 

He swivels in his chair, facing his bed. It’s not made, of course. He never made it unless someone was coming over. Which in this case… someone was. But in his state he can’t really get to that task, and Sapnap probably wouldn’t care anyways. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, running his good hand over his face. His arm is throbbing. Maybe he just won’t open his bedroom door; the room is a lot messier than his bed just not being made. There are papers, food containers, stray mugs, everything. If he is being honest with himself, he probably wouldn’t be willing to tidy his room even if his arm was perfectly fine. 

He gets up from his chair, his back sticking to the seat with sweat. 

Jesus Christ, lying stresses him out a lot. 

He doesn’t bother shutting off his PC, he found it to be easier on the computer to just leave it on rather than turning it on and off all the time. He closes the bedroom door behind him, and leans against the shut door. 

Luckily the rest of his house was less messy than his bedroom. When he comes home from work he typically crashes in his room, only coming out to get water and grab his food deliveries. Exhaust is weaving its way around his bones, pulling him towards his couch to have a nap. But he really shouldn’t, so instead he sits himself down on his kitchen counter. 

The granite is cold and brown, the colour clashing with the blue-toned walls of his apartment. Part of him wonders if it’s his color blindness that makes it clash this much, but George thinks it’s just _that_ ugly. 

He isn’t a huge fan of his apartment, but it’s what he has. Sapnap and him had talked about moving out together, getting another roommate and a nicer place. He was never sure if Sapnap was serious about it. 

He lets himself stare into the crackling fire in the living room. He was pretty lucky to have a fireplace in his apartment, even though it’s small. Sapnap had to have a space heater in each room, which one could only assume gets expensive. 

Speaking of Sapnap, George’s thoughts were interrupted by a knocking at the door. George bitterly remembers that his hair is still a mess, and his shirt is still bloodstained under the hoodie Dream gave him. _Shit_. He hopes it doesn’t smell. 

He leans back, over the sink, and opens one of the cabinets. He swiftly grabs the ibuprofen bottle that sat on the second shelf, grabs two pills, pops them in his mouth, and stuck his face under the sink. He runs the water, and slurps it down with the two pain-relievers. 

“George? Open up-” Sapnap calls out from behind the door, drawing out the last syllable. George just rolls his eyes and wipes his mouth. _Sapnap really has no patience,_ he thinks, and makes his way over to the front entrance. 

When he opens the door, Sapnap brings his arms out and attempts to wrap George in a hug. When George dodges swiftly, realization comes over Sapnap’s face. 

“Shit, sorry dude,” he says, clapping a hand over his mouth. 

“It’s fine,” George responds. He gives a dismissive wave, and moves out of Sapnap’s way. Once he shuts the door, Sapnap moves to make himself at home on George’s couch. George stands awkwardly at his own doorstep, before Sapnap motions for George to join him. Once George settles in, Sapnap clears his throat and speaks up. 

“I thought you might need help, or whatever,” Sapnap says sheepishly. 

“I appreciate it.” George says, fiddling with his fingers. 

“...You okay?”

“Yeah,” George looks up at Sapnap finally, catching his eyes. Sapnap nods, reaching for the remote sitting on the coffee table in front of them. He clicks the TV on after looking at George for approval. Sapnap flips onto some sports channel and turns the volume down low. He sets the remote aside and turns to George, resting his head on the back of the couch. 

“What do you wanna talk about? We can just forget earlier, I am a bit upset you didn’t message me for four whole hours, but it’s fine. Totally over it,” he smiles. “Completely.”

“Why do I feel like you aren’t?” George chuckles, which makes Sapnap laugh as well. 

“Nah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m not gonna cry myself to sleep or anything.”

“I’m sorry!” George exclaims, punching Sapnap in the arm lightly. 

“That’s not fair! I can’t even punch you back!” he shouts, but it’s all in good fun. 

“My plan all along,” George says, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He’s glad most of the tension from earlier is gone, not feeling as pressured to hide what happened to him. Less chance of a freudian slip now, he hopes. “Hey, can we order something to eat? My fridge is empty.” 

Sapnap nods and pulls out his phone, his attention pulled away from George for a moment. George decides to watch the TV, or at least try to. He isn’t a huge fan of sports, it’s definitely more Sapnap’s style. And he isn’t even watching. 

He decides to reach across Sapnap and grab the remote for himself, causing him to wince slightly when his bicep brushes against Sapnap’s chest. He begins to flip through the channels, instead of pretending to understand what was happening in the football game that was on. 

There doesn’t seem to be anything remotely interesting on, and George is seconds away from heading to Netflix, when a news broadcast catches his eye. 

He looks over at Sapnap, who is in the process of dialing the pizza place. He looks back at the TV, and turns up the volume a couple notches. 

“-attacked the south sector of the castle grounds earlier this morning. There seemed to be five suspects involved, and none have been caught thus far,” a woman on the TV says to her cohost, in front of a map of London. “Witness reports vary, but the public is instructed to keep an eye out for an individual with a white mask on with blonde hair, around six-foot four, and another individual with short brown hair, who is around five-foot seven.”

George’s stomach drops to his feet, and he glances over at Sapnap worriedly. Sapnap is luckily busy on the phone, trying to explain to the worker what ‘pepperoni but half’ meant. (Sapnap was never that great at explaining his pizza order, even George isn’t sure if he meant half the pizza, or the actual pepperoni to be cut in half). 

But holy shit. George is a fucking wanted terrorist. All he can hope is that they didn’t get a good enough look at him. Can he go to work? Can he even leave his house? He doesn’t even know how many news channels are reporting on this. 

“-so again, a man in a white mask, and another man in a black, green, and white toque. Please contact the number on the screen if you have any more information on the attack this morning,” the woman finishes, before her coworker picks up the conversation. 

George exhales shakily, running his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t wearing a toque. They aren’t looking for him. His hand moves to his face and he sinks into the couch. _Jesus…_

He chooses to shut the TV off completely, forgetting about Netflix. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, waiting for Sapnap to finish the order. He was too tired to deal with this roller coaster of a mess. 

Once Sapnap hangs up, he looks at George and rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Why does nobody ever understand my food orders? It shouldn’t be that difficult-” he halts his heated rant, noticing George’s crushed demeanor. “You alright?”

George doesn’t know how to respond, instead choosing to bury his face into the back cushion of the couch. He feels the couch shift, followed by Sapnap’s arms wrapped around him lightly. “What’s up?” he murmurs into George’s hair. George sighs, and leans into Sapnap’s arms. He doesn’t really want to talk about it, but he can trust Sapnap, right? They’ve been best friends for a long while, he can tell him anything. 

“Something happened this morning,” George says. Sapnap is quiet, waiting for George to talk, but something twists in George’s stomach the second he opens his mouth. “I don’t know, it’s just been a sucky day, I dropped my phone in the snow-” George says, and Sapnap pulls away. 

“Dude, you should’ve said something! I just assumed it had died. Do you know where you dropped it?”

“Near that bakery, the one a few minutes from your place?” 

“Oh,” Sapnap nods. “Do you want me to swing by, on my way back?” He asks.

“That would be nice,” George smiles. Sapnap nods again, looking away from George, contemplating. 

“Say, we should hang out after work tomorrow. I had other plans, but I think you need some cheering up,” Sapnap pulls out his phone again, and opens his texts. George intentionally doesn’t snoop, and points his attention to his cuticles instead. After a moment, Sapnap nudges George. “I texted the guy I was gonna hang with, he’s cool with you joining-”

“I don’t want to intrude-”

“No, George, you’re coming,” Sapnap says with a smile. He reaches for the remote, and George almost stops him, but when he clicks the TV on the news station has already switched topics. “This is lame, I don’t know how you even watch the news. It’s so sad these days, with all these attacks and shit. I think it’s fear mongering, personally. But whatever, we should watch Netflix or something.”

“Sure,” George breathes, not wanting to get into all that. The tension began to leave his shoulders and neck. He is so damn tense today. Sapnap flicks through the categories, and puts on a random episode of Schitt’s Creek. Both of them have already seen the whole thing, so plot isn’t too much of a concern of theirs. 

George is happy to quiet down, relax, and wait for their pizza to arrive. Just a chill day with his best friend, away from the complexities of the world they’re living in. 

“I haven’t seen that hoodie before, did you get it from your mom?” Sapnap asks. 

George looks at Sapnap for a second, then glances down at the black hoodie that Dream put on him. 

“Early Christmas present,” he lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise early chapter!
> 
> I have a couple art commissions I need to finish before Christmas, but I am really liking this story so I just had to write it now :)
> 
> This is the longest fic I have published, I used to write a lot without posting you see. I have written a couple NaNoWriMo novels, so I am no stranger to longer works, but this fic is something special to me :)
> 
> Shoutout to the user M00BL00M on here, they are truly an angel :) Check out their fic "I'm On Cloud 9 With You" here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893209  
> It's truly one of my favourite DNF fics out there, and it's criminally underrated. Honestly I probably wouldn't have gotten back into fic writing without them being my inspiration. 
> 
> Side note- If you haven't seen Schitt's Creek, you should watch it! It's a Canadian sitcom, it's amazing, and it makes me happy to see Canadian content get into American TV circles :)) I'm surprised more people haven't seen it, it is so inclusive and wonderful with a queer main character whose life isn't based around homophobia. If you are ever looking for a show to watch, give this one a shot :) The first season is slow, but stick with it!
> 
> Interesting fact about me: when I was younger, I partially tore a tendon in my arm while in America!  
> I am Canadian, and I didn't have travel insurance at the time, so it was a bit scary. Luckily I didn't need to go to the hospital, but I had to be in a sling for like a month while it healed haha.  
> That kind of pain is how I describe George's experience with being shot. I know it probably doesn't compare irl, but it was the most pain I have ever been in. 
> 
> During the writing of this chapter, I was also watching smallant on Twitch! He streams Minecraft speedruns, BOTW challenges, and SMO along with other games. He's yet another Canadian creator, can you see a pattern here?
> 
> I have so much more to say, but I should probably leave that for further chapters!
> 
> Back to the fic: next chapter will probably be next week, unless I get a burst of inspiration and some free time.


	3. Game Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George meets Sapnap's friend, Clay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the paragraph spacing slightly for this chapter, it'll probably stay this way for the remainder of the fic. (Easier for me to write like this)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Sapnap had ended up finding George’s phone inside the bakery in the possession of the cashier behind the counter. Apparently, it was hard for him to retrieve on George’s behalf, but Sapnap was able to convince her with the polaroid of the two that George had stuck behind his phone case. 

He gave it to George at the beginning of their shared shift. The screen was cracked from the fall, which made George passively upset. He couldn’t really afford a new one, but he wasn’t a fan of how it sliced at his slim fingers. 

Their shift went fine, George had some issues due to his arm, but Sapnap picked up his slack. The issues were minor; the biggest inconvenience was George begging to take cashier while Sapnap took George’s spot in the back of the shop doing repairs. He didn’t really have the dexterity to do a confident job, and he wasn’t really looking to fry someone’s laptop. 

Though it was a typical day, George is unbelievably happy for it to be over. Stepping out of the small tech shop, George’s senses are met with an immediate chill. The garlic from the nearby restaurant infiltrates his nostrils. His stomach growls quietly, and he’s glad Sapnap is still inside and not able to hear. He’d probably go make them get lunch, but he really isn’t in the mood.

“Okay, so he should be meeting us in like, 15 minutes,” Sapnap says, looking at his phone intently. George just sways on the balls of his feet anxiously. He’s hoping that he gets along with Sapnap’s friend. On one hand it’ll be nice to chill with someone new, but George’s social battery was running dangerously low today. 

George crosses his arms, slightly annoyed. The snow is coming down again, though not as hard as yesterday. He almost opens his mouth to ask Sapnap is he can go home, but suddenly a tall figure enters from the corner of his vision and envelops Sapnap in a bearhug. George jumps in surprise, taking a small step away from the display. 

Sapnap looks surprised for a second, but smiles when he sees the figure’s face. He pushes him away, and they both face George. 

Standing before George is a tall guy with dirty blond hair. His smile is toothy and wide, and he has freckles dusted over his face. He’s wearing a solid yellow hoodie, and plain black jeans. The hood is pulled up over his head, his curly blonde hair swooping out from under the fabric. 

_He looks like a Calvin-Klein model, or some shit._

His eyes appear yellow-ish, but George assumes they are green. Now that he thinks about it, his eyes are almost the exact same shade as his hoodie. He wonders if they’re the same colour. 

The guy’s face is bright, but his smile slips off his face swiftly. That takes George aback, making him feel a bit insulted. He doesn’t think he’s the best looking, but he also doesn’t think his face is that offensive. 

“I’m George,” he smiles, sticking his numb hand out. The guy glances down at it, then at Sapnap, who isn’t really paying attention. He finally takes George’s hand, and gives it a quick shake. His hands are incredibly calloused. 

The blond takes a step back, and pulls out his phone. He quickly types something, and shows it to Sapnap. Sapnap’s mouth forms a small ‘o,’ and he looks up at George. 

“His voice is gone, probably a cold or something,” Sapnap says. George nods slowly, scanning over the guy’s face. 

“Cool. Um,” George scratches his cheek lightly, “I didn’t catch your name?” he says, pointing the question towards Sapnap’s friend, but Sapnap pipes up instead. 

“It’s Clay,” Sapnap smiles. “We’ve been friends for a little while, thought it’d be cool if you two met.”

  
  


\-- 

  
  


George sits on Sapnap’s couch, leaning his back against the armrest. Clay is sitting there as well, on the opposite side of the couch. George can’t help but be annoyed by him. His very first impression was a grimace, he couldn’t even speak to him, and now Clay is just ignoring him. Sitting there on his phone, like he’s too good for George. 

George lets out a huff and adjusts his position, causing the couch to shift and Clay to look over. Once their eyes meet, Clay doesn’t hold his gaze for even a second. His attention turns back to his phone immediately. 

George just rolls his eyes in response. 

“Alright!” Sapnap exclaims as he walks into the living room, breaking the tense silence. Even though he can’t speak today, George still feels like Clay could’ve done something to ease the tension. “So I have like, so many snacks, and games and shit,” Sapnap says, jumping over the back of the couch and plopping between the other two boys. “What do you guys wanna do?”

“I’m cool with just watching a movie or something,” George mutters. Sapnap glances at him, looking slightly disappointed. 

“Where’s the spice in that?” he asks, and Clay snickers.

_Ah, so he can make noise, huh?_

“Fine! Get a board game or something,” George bites. Sapnap’s eyebrow twitches slightly. 

“Gogy, if you don’t wanna hang out, it's fine. You can go take a nap in my room or something and leave Clay and I. We don’t need you if you don’t wanna be here,” he snaps back. George feels a pang in his chest, Sapnap’s words hitting him deep inside. He considers himself to be Sapnap’s best friend; if Sapnap is prioritizing Clay… that makes him feel sick. 

George clenches his fists, his face feeling hot. Clay’s horrible eyes are trained on George, and Sapnap’s expression is fiery. He feels like he’s burning up under their gaze. 

“I’m not tired,” he mutters finally, picking at his cuticles. Sapnap looks at him for a second longer, before getting up and heading to the front closet. He busies himself with browsing the boxes of board games on the top shelf. George considers helping him, but decides against it at the last second. He turns his attention back to his cuticles. He doesn’t exactly like Clay so far. 

Speaking of Clay, he is nudging George’s arm. George glances over, his annoyance growing exponentially. “What?” he snaps, and Clay looks taken aback. He holds out his phone. 

George sees that it is open to his notes app. 

_“How are you?”_ It reads. George’s eyes meet Clay’s, and he just shrugs. 

“Fine, you?” he says flatly. Clay bites his lip and types in something else. 

“ _I’m good!”_ it says simply. 

“You’re shit at conversation,” George mutters, which makes Clay frown. He looks genuinely sad, making George feel a bit guilty, but he shakes it off quick enough. He shouldn’t feel bad for this Clay person, he just met the guy and he’s already more important to Sapnap than George is. 

“ _Would be easier if I could actually talk, George,_ ” Clay’s phone reads. George opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by Sapnap walking in with a Monopoly box. George is slightly annoyed by this… but really, he has no idea what he would’ve said to Clay. Probably some dumb insult that he would cringe at later. 

“Right then, you guys ready to play?” Sapnap chirps, dropping the box onto the coffee table and kneeling on the floor. George just shrugs and scoots a bit closer to the table. Clay smiles, slipping his phone away, and George just hates it. Why? He has no clue, but it seems that he can find a problem in everything Clay does. 

Sapnap unfolds the game board. “What do you wanna be?” Sapnap asks, and Clay points to the thimble. George sighs, and Sapnap glances at George with a pleading look. George meets his eyes. He clenches his fists, holding himself back for Sapnap’s sake. 

He always chooses the thimble. He chooses the thimble, and Sapnap chooses the dog. But today, the thimble belongs to Clay, and he is letting him take it. George has a bitter taste in his mouth, but he lets it linger reluctantly. 

It’s just a game. Whatever. 

He takes the top hat, and puts it on the “go” space. Sapnap opts to be the banker, as usual, and divides out their starting cash. George can do this. He can stay calm, play a normal game. He can do it, for Sapnap at least. 

\---

George manages to hold it together for about half an hour. Which, to be fair, is longer than he thought he could manage. 

“You’re such an asshole, Clay,” he bites viciously. Sapnap is sitting silently, watching the two. George had fallen on Boardwalk, which Clay bought and put hotels on. He is currently sitting smugly, a single hand out, waiting for George to pay up. He wouldn’t be as mad if Clay hadn’t been driving him to bankruptcy all game, and ignoring his pleads for him to cut a deal. Clay pulls his phone out with his free hand, typing something out. 

“Hand it over, bitch,” it speaks. He had turned to text-to-speech halfway through the game, which only got on George’s nerves further. 

George huffed and shoved Clay’s hand away, knocking his phone to the ground. It cracks against the stone brick which lines the walls, and George falters, realizing what had just occurred. 

“What the hell?” Clay shrieks, and immediately his hand claps to his face. George’s brow furrows and Sapnap stares at him, slightly taken aback. 

“What the hell? Did your voice just suddenly heal?” Sapnap asks incredulously. Clay lowers his hand and chews on his bottom lip. The tension in the room dissipates, leaving George in a sense of shock. 

“I gotta go,” Clay says, and stands abruptly, swiping his broken phone off the floor. He brushes his hair out of his eyes and starts towards the door. 

“No, man, come on,” Sapnap stands up now, standing in his way. “What’s up?” Concern began to lace its way into his voice, making George feel sick. Clay isn’t a fucking baby. 

“He faked being sick so he wouldn’t have to talk to me,” George says flatly. He picks at his cuticles, not bothering to look at Clay until he hears a small whine. 

Clay is pouting slightly, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. “Is that what happened?” Sapnap asks softly. Clay just shrugs, sitting back down on the couch awkwardly. “Y’know what? We can just wrap up this game and watch a movie or something?” Sapnap adds, his phrasing sounding like a question. Clay nods, his back sliding down the couch more. 

“Fine,” George adds passive aggressively. This earns him a stern look from Sapnap, but they all settle on the couch comfortably. In order to make room for Sapnap, Clay had to shift so that him and George were pressed up beside each other. 

George isn’t sure how he feels about this. He glances up at Clay, observing his features. “You’re american?” he asks simply. He would much rather scream incoherent nothings at him, but he has to have some level of restraint. 

“I am,” Clay says carefully, studying George. “Moved here for school.” 

“Cool, cool,” George responds. He looks back at the TV, waiting for Sapnap to choose something on Netflix. Clay is the driest motherfucker he has ever met, and he isn’t exactly a fan. “Do I know you?” he adds, and Clay’s head whips back to him. 

“Don’t think so.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely,” Clay says, and the movie begins to play. The couch shifts as Clay gets up to turn off the lights. 

And through the hatred George feels for this man, he misses his warmth in those few seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a bit short, but I hope you enjoyed :))
> 
> I have quite a few fic ideas in mind that... honestly I like a lot more... but I don't wanna abandon this one, and I won't be. 
> 
> Turn on subscriptions!! This fic won't be abandoned, but might be updated between the times I work on my other ideas!!
> 
> Speaking of subscriptions.... User subs are free, and I have a lot planned :))
> 
> ALSOOOOO FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER @chaicloudss


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